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None here is happy but in part.
Full bliss is bliss divine;
And doubtless one in thine.
Which Fate shall brightly gild, ('Tis blameless, be it what it may)
I wish it all fulfill'd.
ODE TO APOLLO. ON AN INK GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN. PATRON of all those luckless brains,
That, to the wrong side leaning,
And little or no meaning :
That water all the nations,
In constant exhalations,
Too covetous of drink,
A poet's drop of ink? Upborne into the viewless air
It floats a vapour now, Impell’d through regions dense and rare,
, By all the winds that blow. Ordain'd perhaps ere summer flies,
Combin'd with millions more, To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.
Beyond the happiest lot,
Phoebus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow,
With equal grace below.
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau*
It chanc'd then on a winter's day,
My friends! be cautious how ye treat
I fear we shall have winter yet.” * It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be with held from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses ?
A Finch, whose tongue knew no control,
“Methinks the gentleman," quoth she,
Opposite in the apple-tree,
Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling,
But though the birds were thus in haste, The leaves came on not quite so fast, And Destiny, that sometimes bears An aspect stern on man’s affairs, Not altogether smil'd on theirs. The wind, of late breath'd gently forth, Now shifted east, and east by north; Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know. Could shelter them from rain or snow, Stepping into their nests, they paddled, Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled; Soon ev'ry father, bird, and mother Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other, Parted without the least regret, Except that they had ever met, And learn’d in future to be wiser, Than to neglect a good adviser.
This lesson seems to carry—
But proper time to marry.
THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
THE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
I wander'd on his side.
And high in pedigree, (Two nymphs,* adorn'd with ev'ry grace,
That spaniel found for me)
Now starting into sight,
With scarce a slower flight.
His lilies newly blown,
And one I wish'd my own.
To steer it close to land;
Escap'd my eager hand.
With fixed, consid’rate face,
* Sir Robert Gunning's daughters.